A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy Page 26

  “Well, I guess that’s not too bad a loss, considering we was in that pest hole over three weeks. I’ve heard of worse, you may be sure. I collect Mr. Halladay has assigned the new men to watches and quarters stations?”

  “Aye, that he has, sir. Coleman’s in Biggs’ starboard watch, and the other’s been assigned to the larbowlines, my section. Biggs was right pleased to have that fellow aboard. Seems they was friends right off, when Biggs got hisself on that frigate. Less’n we take more’n a few prizes ourselves, we should be all right for hands.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Clements. Keep her in line with the others. Your course is northwest, a half north until we turn up to the Passage. I will be below. Send for me as soon as we’re clear to harden up and beat into the Windward Passage, or at once should there be a signal from Freedom or you sight a strange ship.”

  “Aye, sir. By my reckoning, we’re likely a couple o’ hours and more from layin’ the center of the Passage, even favorin’ the eastern side. I collect we’re goin’ to stay tight in with the others ‘til we’re clear?” Clements wanted to be sure he understood the orders for the group. On the quarterdeck there was no time for his usual irreverent attitude, and he listened soberly to his orders.

  “I think we’ll be fine about three or four cables apart, as we are now, Mr. Clements. With this breeze, we should be layin’ Cap-a-foux by supper time or sooner.” Smalley turned and folded his lanky frame into the companionway, and Clements noticed him starting to remove his black coat as he disappeared into the gloom of the dark lower deck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  New Men Aboard

  “She sure don’t sail like anything I ever been on, Tim. You?” Two men were standing at the rail on the leeward side of Glory as she raced through the white topped seas, ducking occasionally as one came aboard, and laughing as they did so.

  “Not in life, Robert, me friend. Once as a boy I sailed on a wee packet in the Irish Sea – a lively vessel she was by my eyes, but by all the saints, she’d be hard pressed to match this ‘un, she would. Why she fairly flies, she does. I wouldn’t want old Gunner Chase breathin’ down me neck whilst I was tryin’ to lay a shot into this ship; I reckon she’d be nigh impossible to hit clean, save with a lucky shot.”

  Robert Coleman laughed, and turning to his friend, spied a familiar face topped with curly dark hair coming towards the pair from aft.

  “So that’s what happened to you, Isaac. I was sure they’d grabbed you up and flung you into irons, the way they marched you off’n Fleur when she was taken. Then not seein’ you in the ‘old with the rest of us, nor ashore in ‘aiti when they put us on the beach, we was sure you’d come to no good. So ‘ere you are, on this fine sailin’ vessel with us, an’ out to take some prizes. That fellow what brought us aboard – what was his name Tim, ‘alladay, wa’n’t it? He’s first lieutenant aboard ‘ere, Isaac. You probably already run into him too, once or twice, eh?”

  Biggs smiled at his old friend. Then lines appeared in his narrow forehead as he grew serious. “Coleman, you got a lot to learn. First off, they ain’t no first lieutenant on Glory; she ain’t in the Navy. She’s what’s called a private armed vessel, I’m told – same as a privateer, I reckon. Owned by a bunch of businessmen in Baltimore, Maryland, and out to catch British shipping. Halladay, why he’s first mate, pretty much the same as Mr. Burns was on Orpheus, but he ain’t Navy. Mr. Clements is second mate, and I’m third.” Coleman’s eyes widened in silent response to this last revelation. He sputtered, about to say something, but Biggs pressed on. “So you can’t call me Isaac when they’s anyone around – wouldn’t be respectful, even though we been friends and shipmates longer than anyone else aboard. How’d you feel ‘bout taken British prizes?”

  The two British sailors were silent for a moment. Then the short older sailor with Coleman pushed himself off the bulwark. He wore a handkerchief tied around his neck and a none-too-clean striped jersey. Isaac remembered Coleman had referred to his friend as “Tim” and had noticed his pate was as smooth as a cannon ball, his tarred pigtail being about all the hair he had. It was he who answered the third mate.

  “I ‘member you from Orpheus, Biggs…I mean Mr. Biggs, and sorry I am about that, sir. An’ give you joy of your good fortune, sir. I’m Tim Conoughy, gun captain late of the Royal Navy, and considerin’ what the Royal Navy put me through, I ain’t got a care, to be sure, ‘bout takin’ British prizes, an’ the more the merrier, I say. That cove what brought us aboard said we’d get prize shares long as we fought, and that sits just fine with me. O’ course I wouldn’t mind takin’ a Frenchy should one turn up along the way. I’m guessin’ they don’t signify, though, eh? How ‘bout you Robert?” The diminutive Irishman’s eyes twinkled with glee as he spoke, his whole body seemed animated with his joy of being on this fleet American schooner.

  “I could surely do with some prize shares, my own self. Not a farthing to me name. That’s a fact, it is.” Coleman turned and stared out over the lee side of the plunging, racing, schooner at the distant land fading into the evening darkness. After a few moments, he looked at the third mate and smiled.

  “You don’t have to worry ‘bout me, Isaac. I ‘eard from Mr. ‘alladay you was the one what got me aboard ‘ere and off’n that stinkin’ island where we was dropped from Fleur. I ain’t gonna be a problem for you, an’ I got no desire to get back aboard a Royal Navy ship – probably get flogged ‘round the fleet for desertion, I reckon. So I’m ‘ere to stay. I think this’ll be a fine berth for me – even if she ain’t got much of a top ‘amper for me to work in.”

  “Aye, flogged we’d be, and ‘at’s fer certain, Robert. An’ Tice would love the chance to turn his bully-boys loose on us, seized up to the grate like a couple sacks o’ meal. I can hear the cat singin’ in me head, I can. Makes the stripes already on me back sting just thinkin’ about it, by all that’s holy.” Tim shook his head, his pigtail whipping left and right as he did, and, pointing a long thin finger at the guns looked hard at Isaac. “I ‘spect I can be of some help to you boys here with these guns, Mr. Biggs. They look pretty much the same as most I seen, ‘ceptin’ that ‘midships mounted piece. That’s a piece o’ work, by the saints.”

  “Aye, that’s the Long Tom. Makes a terrible racket when she fires, but loaded right, I collect she does some heavy damage. I ain’t seen it my own self yet, but we got some months afore we head home, so I ‘spect there’ll be chances to use her. You check with Mr. Clements, the second, and let him know you understand these things. I ‘magine he’d welcome a hand.”

  The Irishman headed off in search of the second mate, his gait showing clearly that he’d spent most of his life at sea, while Biggs and Coleman caught each other up on what had happened to each since the trio of privateers had taken the two British prizes. After Isaac had finished telling of Burns’ escape, Coleman clapped him on the back.

  “You done right in not lettin’ that cove shoot Lieutenant Burns, Isaac. Would’na been right, bein’s ‘ow ‘e was willin’ to risk a swim to shore and then ‘idin’ in the town. An’ shootin’ ‘im wouldn’t change nothin’ what ‘appened with the cap’n and Burns on that other vessel – what’ you call ‘er? Righty-o, I remember, Anne. I don’t ‘alf blame the cove for wantin’ to risk a swim to get ‘isself out of the ‘hold. I’m telling you Isaac, bein’ in that ‘old with the ‘atch battened down tight wasn’t no pleasure, and I’d o’ thought of swimming for it meself given the chance. Some of those Frenchies and wharf rats we shipped in Nassau got to fightin’ and afore we knew it, they was two of ‘em dead. Them boys on deck come down and drug ‘em out, but still it was some strain for coves used to bein’ topside. The landsmen set up a wailin’ and carryin’ on fit to wake the dead. After what I guess was a couple of weeks, they let us up on deck. Said we could work the ship if we wanted to stay topside; if we didn’t want to work, then back into the ‘old. They was a few of us woulda’ worked for Satan ‘isself afore we’d go back down that ‘ole again. Conoughy w
as one stayed topside, and a few others. After we was ashore in Haiti, some cove come and asked if any would like to sign on a privateer; Tim and me, we jumped, ‘specially since the cove askin’ called for me by name. Not many come, though. One or two went to one of the other vessels, but for the rest, I guess they didn’t want to sign on to fight they’s own kind and give they’s parole to stay ashore in Port-au-Prince. There’s a place I won’t miss! Why, there wasn’t a friendly face anywhere I looked, an’ those people’d rob a man blind, ‘ceptin’ none of us ‘ad nothin’ to rob!”

  “Well, I am surely glad you’re with us. Glory and the others are fine vessels ‘at’ll sail the bottoms off’n most anything comes along. I ‘spect you’ll get to see her at her best if ever we raise another ship.” He stopped and, seeing Willard Halladay approaching, called out to him.

  “Mr. Halladay, this here’s Coleman, the fellow I sailed with on Orpheus and then Fleur. He’s a fine able seaman and I’d be pleased to have him in my watch. The other fellow, Conoughy, he knows something about guns, being as how he was a gun captain on Orpheus; probably be of use to Clements. I sent him off to find him and tell…”

  Halladay laughed. “Ease up Mr. Biggs. I’ve already took care of it. Coleman, here, is in your watch, and I’m right pleased to know ‘bout the Irishman. You might recall, Isaac, that I went and found these lads after you convinced Cap’n Smalley to ship ‘em.” Turning to Coleman, he continued. “You got to get aft and sign the ship’s Articles so as to make you a part of the crew. I reckon it was pretty much the same in the British ships, wa’n’t it?”

  “Aye, sir, it was to be sure. I’d be happy to sign ‘em. Where’s the purser’s office? I collect he’d be the one to see?”

  “No, Coleman. We ain’t got a purser aboard; only one in the group is on Freedom with Cap’n Abrams. Cap’n Smalley an’ me do all the paperwork, so you just get yourself aft and I’ll be right along.” The two mates watched as Coleman moved aft to the edge of the quarterdeck, still in awe of the way this little schooner sailed. “I think he’ll fit right in, Biggs. Seems a fine lad. You were right in pressing the Cap’n to sign him.”

  “Thank you, Willard. I surely hope he won’t disappoint.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Encounter at Sea

  The change of the watch at midnight found the three schooners almost through the Windward Passage; the wind was, as usual here, steady and strong, whipping the sea into a nasty, wet chop, which built on the tops of the rollers being pushed into the Passage from the Atlantic. The shores being close at hand on either side caused back currents and confused the normal direction of the waves, adding to the sloppiness and making the decks of the privateers constantly wet. The sky overhead was clear with an abundance of stars and a bright quarter moon, the air was cool, and with the constant spray lashing anything topside, the men being relieved to go below were looking forward to the warmth of their hammocks. Most had, by now, worked through the ill effects of three weeks ashore, and were functioning as was expected.

  Smalley had been on deck since supper; his black coat glistened wetly in the starlight, but he barely noticed the wetness on it or the deck, so intent was he on moving his ship safely through these dangerous waters. He had become one with his schooner. He felt her every lurch as her bow slammed into a wave, or in areas of cross-seas, when a wave smacked the side of the ship. Glory was making fine time, behaving like the lady she was, and handling this nasty stretch of water with aplomb, albeit wetly. He saw the others, ghostly in the starlight, were doing as well, and holding their position in the lose formation in which they sailed. Both were, like Glory shortened down to a mains’l, reefed fores’l and single jib; they were in no rush, but Smalley knew that had they been in a stern chase, all the ships could, and would, carry more sail, likely up to tops’ls and flying jibs. These schooners were built tough, and thrived in strong breezes and choppy seas.

  Through the middle watch the privateers beat their way toward Great Inagua Island, and then to the Atlantic Ocean. The sky lightened with the dawn, slowly at first, then more rapidly, and almost suddenly, the sun rose from the sea into a cloudless sky. At first, the ships glowed in the soft early light, then, as the fiery ball continued to rise, the light became harsh, turning the sea to the east into a dazzling array of diamonds. The lookouts aloft had to squint their eyes to tiny slits and use their hands to block the sun. The vessels bore off to pass between Great Inagua and the eastern end of Cuba, preparing to add sail, and start the routine of another day at sea.

  “Sail ho! Broad on the weather bow…looks to be ‘bout seven or eight leagues distant.” The cry of the forward lookout interrupted the morning ritual performed by the on-deck watch, scrubbing down the decks, recoiling all sheets and halyards and putting to rights anything knocked askew by the night’s wet weather. All hands stopped what they had been doing to look up, as if by looking at the man aloft they could divine what he saw.

  Third Mate Isaac Biggs, who had the watch, called to his messenger and sent him below to inform the captain. He then ran forward and jumped into the foremast rigging, climbing with a speed and skill born of years as a topman. When he got to the yard and stepped from the rigging to the cap, the lookout moved to make room for him.

  “There, sir, you can make out her tops’ls clear as day.” The man on watch at the foremast cap had been alert, and indeed, only the upper works of the strange ship were visible. Biggs studied what he could see with his glass, but from only her tophamper, he could make no judgment on her nationality. Looking down at the quarterdeck, he saw that Captain Smalley was on hand, his frock coat flapping in the wind as he strove to button it, and his hair askew; he had not taken the time to tie it back as he normally did, nor had he taken the time to clothe himself in more than his britches and coat. Biggs watched as the captain cupped his hands to his mouth, and faintly heard his voice.

  “What have we got, Mr. Biggs? Can you make her out?”

  Biggs turned and took one more long look with his glass, and then stepped off the mast cap onto the backstay. He slid down to the deck in seconds and strode quickly to the quarterdeck.

  “She’s too far off yet to make out her colors, Cap’n, if she be showin’ any. ‘Pears to be square-rigged, and I think I made out the top of a mizzen, makin’ her a three master. She showin’ tops’ls fore an’ main, bare spar aft. She’s downwind, on t’other tack, and still six, maybe seven leagues off. Her course’ll close with us if’n she don’t harden up or wear.”

  “Very good, Mr. Biggs…quartermaster, show the flags for ‘Unknown vessel sighted five, seven’ if you please.” The captain needed to let the man in charge of the little squadron know that the three master was five points to his weather, seven leagues distant. He reached inside his coat for something, then realized he had no shirt or jacket on under it.

  “Messenger, kindly step to my cabin and have the boy fetch me my watch, quick as you can now.” He glanced at the sun, giving him a rough idea of the time, and turned back to his third mate.

  “Mr. Biggs. It is possible we could be in action by mid-day. We will need to alert the gunner, bosun, and, of course, Mr. Halladay, if you please. You might also let Cook know that he will be feeding dinner early and then have his galley fires doused.”

  As in the past, and on most every fighting vessel of every nation, news of the sighting and the possibility of a prize spread throughout the schooner in seconds, and before Biggs could get past the main mast, Halladay, accompanied by the gunner, arrived on deck.

  “Ah, Mr. Halladay, I had just sent Biggs off to find you. We have a vessel bearing down on us from just for’ard o’ the beam. ‘Appears not to be in any great hurry as yet, but they may not have seen us. Best we are prepared.” Turning, the captain spoke to the quartermaster. “Have we a response from Freedom yet, quartermaster?”

  The sailor looked again through his glass at Abrams’ schooner. As he watched, flags climbed up the main mast and whipped in the wind until they were secur
ed; once tied down, they stiffened and the quartermaster read them and opened his signal book before answering the captain.

  “Just now, sir. Cap’n Abrams says ‘Good job. Glory to investigate. Freedom and Rights to aid.’ That’s all, sir.”

  “Very good. Mr. Biggs, you may bring her up a point to northwest by north, if you please. And we’ll shake out that reef and set the flying jibs.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Biggs gave the orders to the helmsman, and stepped forward to shout to the men amidships to trim sails as the schooner responded to the helm. Halladay was already starting the topmen on shaking out the reef and setting the additional jibs ordered by Smalley.

  Gradually, the two vessels closed. Beating to quarters became a formality; most of the men were already at their assigned fighting stations when the bosun’s pipe trilled. As the square-rigged stranger closed the separation to about a league, Smalley showed his colors; the American flag produced a like response from the larger ship, and a Dutch ensign fluttered to the mizzen gaff.